Her
by Darkened Starlight
Summary: AU: They betrayed her, they broke their oath, and she intends to make them pay for it, but there is a darker force at work here than the EITC, one that threatens the very survival of the world. PreAWE.
1. Prologue

"Prologue: You're Supposed to Be Dead"

"Are the candle's necessary?" he asks as he fingers the brim of his gigantic black hat.

"I like da candles."

"Ah. And I'm supposin' that, since you're the immortal, you make any asthetic decisions for us poor mortals?"

"Poor mortals?" she laughs. "Hardly."

It was a strange scene under any circumstances. Two figures stood at the window, watching a longboat come slowly toward the hut they stood in. Gypsies, holding lighted candles, lit the way, and the natural fog made the scene all the stranger.

One figure departed up the stairs as the longboat emptied and its occupants trooped slowly up the stairs, settling about the room

Piercing green eyes watch the scene from their perch in the rafters. A rhythmic thunk echoes through the hut. The room's occupants may not shed tears, but sadness is draped around their shoulders. The being to whom the eyes belong names them each, struggling to make her newfound body remember the ability to speak.

"Pin…tel," sturdily built, scrappy beard, black coat who stands in the corner, cradling his black iron tankard with an expression on his face so solemn one would think the world was ending. "Rag..et…ti," taller, gangly, hair plastered to his head like a sweaty cap, one wooden eye, stares across the room like a lost dog, good eye shining. Two lost souls.

"Mar…ty," short, head devoid of hair, short beard, inquisitive stare and perplexed look, watches the bottom of his tankard like it contains all the world's secrets. "Cot…ton," older, lined face from a life at sea, parrot, he watches the others protectively, like an uncle, sorrow drooping his shoulders. Two souls losing their way.

"Kal…yp…so," one of her crone forms, a dread goddess, with ordered hair that springs from her head like a waterfall, blackened teeth, mysterious air, walks among them, offering solace, but she is not of this world.

"E…liz…a…beth Swa…nn," blond hair hides her from the world as she slumps over, rocks back and forth, guilt-ridden and confused, frightened by the distant man beside her. Of all these varied people, she is the one who has strayed the furthest. "Will Tur…ner," handsome, leather jacket, a dagger with two sides that he throws into the table again and again, brown eyes that stare at the wooden surface, searching for answers it cannot give him. Two more lost souls of a company.

Green ice softens and a shaking voice warms. "Josh…a…mee Gibbs. Gibbs," hair gone gray with age and salt water, patched clothing, a stolen sword that he has made his own, he downs the contents of his jug, hiding a few stray tears as he forces himself to pick everything back up again. He who has lost everything is lost once again.

A crew of seven is all that is left of the proud _Black Pearl_. They lack a figurehead, a leader. They do not know what to do, nor do they have any idea what purpose they serve here now.

"It doesn't matter now," Will Turner's words come from his mouth, but the truth they ring is the song that sings in each floundering crewmembers' heart. "The _Pearl_ is gone. Along with her captain."

"Aye, and already the world seems a little less bright. He fooled us all, right to the very end," only one who looked closely could see the tears and hear the tremor in Joshamee's voice. "But I guess that…honest streak finally won out. To Jack Sparrow!"

Green eyes close in pain, a reminder of what she lost once again. Jack Sparrow.

"Never another like Captain Jack!" Ragetti lifts his mug, voice shaking, tears running down his face, trying to draw strength from the others.

Pintel lifts his tankard, hints of water in the corners of his eyes. "He was a gentleman of fortune, he was."

Elizabeth's voice is hurried, she can't keep her voice steady as she says softly, "He was a good man." She raises the mug but does not drink. Can't drink. If memory serves, she has already drunk too much in guilt today.

Turner rubs the handle of his dagger and drinks. Green eyes ache with sympathy for him. She knows what it is like to be betrayed. She felt that emotion too often in her too short life. Yet, he holds on. He won't let himself hate Elizabeth.

"If there was anything that could be done to bring him back…," they are harmless words of comfort but the breath of every occupant of the room catches. After all, some of their number have been immortal. Will's next words are almost a moan and meant only for one person. "Elizabeth…," he can't go on.

"Would you do it? Hmm?" the dread goddess addresses them in words that are far from winged and wise. "What would you? Hmm? What would any of you be willing to do? Hmm? Would you sail to the end of the eart', and beyond, to fetch back witty Jack and him precious _Pearl_?"

"Aye!" Joshamee is first. Always eager, always ready, but now hardened, hardened with thirteen years of grief and trying to find the rest of who is he, since his identity sank with the _Pearl_.

"Aye," Pintel follows, harsh glare firmly on his face.

"Aye," Ragetti not far behind, voice breathless with hope.

A squawk echoes, and the parrot speaks, "Aye!" Beside Cotton, Marty nods, eyes lifting from the tankard.

All eyes now turn to the final two as Will Turner's eyes turn only to his beloved. He will do anything for her, including die, including save the man who kissed her not five hours before from the dead.

"Yes," Elizabeth almost whispers it. Green eyes regard her knowingly. There is one man, with his tremendous intuitive sense of the female creature, who drives females mad. Betrothed noble ladies from Port Royal are no exception.

"Aye," Will knows that he will regret answering such, but he does it for her, for Elizabeth. Each of them have their own motivation.

Kalypso grins, a savage grin. "Alright. But if you're goin' to brave de weird and haunted shores at world's end, den…you will need a captain dat knows dose waters." Green eyes speckle with anger. Captain? He is no captain. He failed, both he and Jack. She was the only one left, the only one who went down with the ship, the only one who kept their promise…their oath.

Footsteps clunk down the stairs, heavy. Anger gives way to jealousy as she watches how easily he moves. He wasn't dead as long as she was, he hadn't forgotten how to walk. She is as weak as a newborn kitten, and he strides down the steps like he never died.

"So, tell me," he betrayed her, he broke his oath, and he tried to murder Jack, but he is still Falcon. His familiar face, reddish hair, blue coat, elaborate sheath strap, all of it is familiar to her, all of it calms her. "What has become of my ship?" A huge bite out of a bitter green apple, oozing juice out of his mouth…that's her Falcon, lover of all things dramatic.

Her green eyes turn towards the crew, all recoiled in shock. Joshamee takes several steps backward, skin ashen. Cotton and Marty stare in confused shock, while the parrot shakes his feathers in what appears to be a shiver. Elizabeth stares, mouth slightly open, mug held tight in her hand. Turner stares, eyes wide, weight rocked back on his heels, one hand reaching for his sword, while Ragetti watches in fear from behind Turner. Pintel, in the back, partially shadowed, is the first to speak.

"You're supposed to be dead," he quakes, voice not quite making it to a strong pitch, but rather wavering a bit.

"For one who spent ten years as an immortal skeleton, you have a limited perception of what is possible and impossible," he drawls, purposefully angering them.

"In the last few days, Captain Barbossa, I have seen many things that should never have been. Including, but not limited to, a sea monster that eats ships, a man with tentacles for his face, and someone I…my father. But people do not come back from the dead, and the last time I saw you, you were most certainly dead," Will snapped.

Elizabeth has gone as pale as snow. She keeps her mouth closed tightly, and it is hard to tell of she is angry or guilty.

Barbossa is taken aback at Will's speech, even though he pretends not to be. "Bootstrap? Where did you see him?"

"The Flying Dutchman, if you must know."

She is not altogether interested in this piece of news. She never knew Bootstrap Bill. He had been after her time, one of the replacement crew for the resurrected _Black Pearl_. Bile fills her mouth at even the thought of the _Black Pearl_. Even not knowing the truth, how could he have wanted to resurrect that…vile ship?

"A touch of destiny, William Turner, remember dat," Kalypso chimes in softly. "Barbossa, she wants you to behave," She lifts a mug from her nearly empty tray. "Miss Swann, drink dis. Everyone else, my people will show you to your sleeping place."

"What is in that?" Will asks sharply as the crew flees from Falcon, who is looking at me reproachfully out of the corner of his eye.

"Nothing dat will 'urt her, only to relax her. If she will drink it."

"All your talk about the world's end, and immortal, cursed pirates does not change the fact," Elizabeth's voice is shaky and uneven, but gathering strength. "That the last time I saw you, you were all alone in a treasure-filled, cursed cave, as dead as…as dead can get, as the island shrank into the distance. If Jack hadn't killed you, you would have killed me."

"I wouldn't have killed you, Miss Swann. 't'would have been wasteful." That's a lie, and everyone in the room knows it.

The monkey jumps from Barbossa's shoulder to Elizabeth's. She shrieks and jumps backward, grapping at the surface of the table next to her for something to throw at the beast. Elizabeth's hand finds a pistol. Not any pistol, but one with silver plating. Green eyes widen as she recognized it. It's her father's…her pistol. Elizabeth fires shakily at the monkey, narrowly missing it.

"You pointed a pistol at me and cocked it," she half-shouts. "If Jack hadn't shot you, you would have fired. So, Captain Barbossa, how can I trust you?"

She swings awkwardly down, with very little of her old grace. But she manages to land on her feet, leaning against a post, with her shaggy red-gold hair mostly out of her face.

"The better question, Elizabeth Swann, is can we…trust you?" her words are slow and slurred, but they are words indeed. The pistol turns to face her, but how can Elizabeth fire a gun with it's only shot already gone?

"You're going to hurt yourself. You aren't used to this yet," Barbossa snaps at her.

"Concern is….touching, Fal…con. I'm fine," she replies. Sweat is already covering her face in a fine sheen as she fights with her weakened muscles to remain upright. "Can we…trust you, Eliza…beth? Or can you trust…yourself?"

Elizabeth's eyes widen, and she steps backwards. Barbossa steps forward.

"Don't be a fool. Sit down or lie down before you fall down."

"Shut…up," she chokes out before losing her balance and falling towards the floor. Green eyes close as hard floorboards rush up to meet her, cursing Barbossa for being right as she waits for the painful impact to follow.

But that impact never comes. Strong arms wrap around her, catching her.

"Stubborn girl," Barbossa mutters, but it was not he who caught her and still holds her steady. Her rescuer smells of sea water, leather, and smoke. Barbossa scoops her up from Turner's hold. It's degrading how he can still pick her up like that, but she never grew any taller than her five foot, two inch height and weighs less that a child. "Wren, will you ever learn?"

"I just…lost my balance."

The door to the hut bangs upon, but her view of it is limited by the bulk of Barbossa's body. The voice, when it comes, is easily recognizable.

"Tia Dalma, what did you put in the rum?" Joshamee roars. "There are two dead people in this room. I'm seein' dead people! What cruel trick do you play on me now?"

"I put nothin' in da rum, Mr. Gibbs. You need sleep."

"Gibbs, what do you mean, two dead people? I see only one," Will is confused and suspicious, but no one answers him.

"I do not need sleep, Tia! I saw her die. I know that that sword thrust was fatal. It was thirteen years ago, and the ship was eaten. So, tell me, what cruel trick do you play?"

"Falcon, let…me talk to him…alone," she whispers, green eyes piercing into his yellowed, blue ones. "He'll…believe me. But get…Turner and Sw…ann out."

He nods, once, before turning to Joshamee. "She wants to talk to you, Gibbs, and only you. Turner, Miss Elizabeth, if you please?" Elizabeth stared at him like he was crazy but moved towards the door. Will stayed firmly planted.

"Anything she tells Gibbs, I will hear as well. If it's my fate to be a pirate, I will by a proper one. That means fair share of risk, information, and treasure, Barbossa. I'm not leaving."

"Will…iam Tur…ner, I will talk to Josh…amee alone. You do not want…to hear what…my story is. Please," his hazel eyes study her face for a long moment, taking in her scarred face, ripped clothing, bandaged arm. His eyes linger on her arm, where white bandages cover a black tattoo and a red 'P'-shaped scar. Finally he looks away, towards Gibbs. Elizabeth reaches out and touches his arm, and he jumps, as though shocked. She pulls away, a frightened, guilty expression on her face, and tears budding in her eyes. As she looks down at the floor, Will looks at her, and his gaze noticeably softens.

"At some point in the future, mysterious girl, I would like to have some answers to my questions. But for now, I can wait. Elizabeth?" she doesn't look at him, but rather walks quickly out of the cabin. He follows, slowly.

"Fal…con, scat," she whispered. Shooting her an exasperated glance, he left the room. Wincing, she gripped the table top and pulled herself into a setting position on top of it. The room remained eerily silent. "So…hello."

"You can't be Wren Robinson," Joshamee said flatly. Blue eyes that used to sparkle with so much hope look dead and worn out. He has aged, no longer the eager young man she knew, but a suspicious, superstitious, salty pirate.

"I had hoped that pro…longed exposure to Jack Spar…row would change you're mind a…bout what is poss…ible and imposs…ible," she replied, brushing a stray lock of hair out of her face, her fingertips brushing the diagonal scar that runs across from her right temple to her left cheek. "You see this scar?"

Joshamee nods. "Distinctive, but easily faked."

"How did I get it? Did I ever tell you that sto…ry, Joshamee?" He shakes his head. "Jack's fault. We were in a fight…early on. He was trying to fight like Fal…con can. But he lost his grip on his sw…ord. Hit me. Not his finer mo…ment.

"You still don't be…lieve me. How many survived the sink…ing of the _Pearl_? Only you. And you…'ve never told a soul a…bout what happened that night. Avery's sword thrust could…n't have been stopped by the fin…est swordsmen in the Carib…bean. When a man has hate in his heart, he has a wea…pon greater than any other can ob…tain.

"It's a nice scar," she fiddled with the bandages wrapped around her waist, silently cursing numbed fingers and dead senses. "Here. Right there."

White bandage fell away to reveal a thick scar, right underneath her ribcage. Joshamee's eyes widened. "Avery's sword, my pistol…quite a collect…ion. Do you remember what I made you promise? I said, 'Promise me, you will look after them, after Jack…he needs it," his voice joined hers. "Crazy's got nothing to do with it. He just needs someone to be his common sense. And don't tell him. It would destroy him."

"I wasn't very good at it, Wren," his voice crackled like a bonfire.

She shakes her head, slowly, "No. But you kept him alive. Mostly."

He reaches up and holds onto a rope that hangs from the ceiling as though he needs help to stand on his own. "Mary, mother of God…it was awful Wren," he whispered. "It was awful to sail away, knowing he was being eaten alive, awful to watch the _Pearl_ go down," he pauses to collect himself, finding it difficult to continue. "Why are you back, Wren? And why is he back?" his voice sneers as he says 'he'. "He'll bring nothing but trouble."

She laughs, a rough sound. "Fal…con's never brought any…thing but trouble. And he owes me. Both of them. I in…tend to col…lect in the time that's been giv…en to me."

"Davy Jones, Cutler Beckett…the East India Trading Company against one ship?"

"As well as one James Nor…rington," she adds. Her face going paler as she loses energy.

"The Commodore? Heaven help us," he stops for a moment, studying the contents of the jar. When he speaks again, his voice is deeper. "Can it be done? And with Barbossa along as well?"

She curses her internal struggle as her weak lungs fight to bring oxygen into her body fast enough. Muscles ache with pain, but she refuses to show weakness for another few seconds. "We're fac…ing a lot of de…vils this time 'round, and that makes it har…der. And not even Jack Spar…row can best the de…vil," she replies, her voice weaker than she would have liked. Joshamee flinches and looks down at the floorboards. Slowly, she lifts a shaking hand and forces him to look into her eyes, green orbs that have gone steely with the fiery determination she was famous for. "Least…ways, not alone."

**AN**: This will be the longest author's note in the story, I promise. I know they can be irritating.

The idea for this story predates the release of AWE, and as such will not follow canon. However, there are parts of AWE that I will use, a line or two or maybe a scene. I also use the Lattimore translation of "The Odyssey" for the spelling of Kalypso, because I think it works better with the K - more coarse, more...earthy, if that can be an adjective used with a sea goddess. Most other gods mentioned in this story will come from Greek mythology, though a few will come from my imagination.

This story will mostly follow Wren, but there will be chapters from Jack's and Will's POV, and possibly one or two from Norrington's.

Thanks for reading and please drop me a review! Constructive critism helps more than you can possibly know.


	2. Have I Threatened You Before?

"Her" – Have I Threatened You Before?

There's not much of a fire going, but the place is as hot as the core of a flame. River beds, run dry long ago, cross the landscape like a patchwork of scars. There is no sky, only grey and brown rock.

Little plant life exists. What is there is comprised mostly of molds and lichens, with the occasional leaf or patch of half-dead moss. Animal life is just as scarce. Some reckon that there's a bird or two nesting way up near the ceiling. Others swear they saw a mouse or a cricket.

The air smells like sulfur and sweat. Sulfur from the great fire pits, the cracks into the bowels of the earth where steaming magma pools. Sweat from the only inhabitants of this barren place. Hundreds of thousands of millions of billions of human beings toil on this life-stricken plain. Each stands before a mountain of wooden sticks. Each toils on, breaking each stick and loading it into a cart. Their piles grow smaller, slowly, though time has no meaning in this place.

The inhabitants are rail thin. Some bleed continuously from the wounds they received. Other are lucky enough to have scarred over. All of them work, breaking each stick into sections and loading the cart.

There's one group of these forlorn souls who do not. They break a few sticks, sure, but they do not work constantly. Their work is shoddy at best as well. They fight with each other and bicker amongst themselves.

And there is one soul, a new one, who simply paces around his pile of sticks. He still bleeds from the network of cuts that comes from being swallowed alive, but he has bandaged his most severe wounds. He is a shorter man and a lean one, with sun tanned skin and untamed black dreadlocks. Beads and silver coins are strung in his hair, which is held off his forehead and face by a faded red bandana. Atop his wild hair is a battered hat, well-worn and much loved.

His face is sweaty, like all the others, and bloody. His dark brown eyes are outlined in kohl, giving them a deep-set look. His blade of a nose juts out from his face, and a black moustache covers his upper lip. A bit of a beard dots the end of his chin, and two braids with beads at the end hang down from that beard. He wears a ragged, navy captain's jacket and brown pants, and several belts from which hang an assortment of items, including a compass, a pouch, and a few feathers. A red strip of cloth is also tied 'round his waist. His sword sheath is strapped across his chest, with sword safely stowed.

He runs a hand over a long board, washed smooth by sea water and years of polishing. A ship much beloved, a ship that had been with him throughout a good portion of his life. The _Black Pearl_.

"Well, well, look who finally kicked the bucket, fellas. Jack Sparrow."

The speaker was a tall, scarred man in his early forties. He stood, flanked by a gang of companions who must have all been sailors at some time in their lives.

"Captain Jack Sparrow, if you don't mind," he replies absentmindedly as he pulls at a piece of black fabric trapped underneath the timbers.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the intruder's voice is mocking and high. "_Captain_ Jack Sparrow. Don't mind me for my slip of da tongue, you can cut it off if ya like!"

Jack turns to study the man, tilting his head to the side and resting his left hand on the top of his sword hilt. "You seem somewhat familiar."

"I should bloody well hope so, since I been waitin' for this day for a mighty long time now."

"Well, whatever peculiar grievance I might have caused you in the past, you will have to remind me of it. Your face does not bring it immediately to mind," he falls back on his old weapon, his mouth.

"I'll just wait for you to remember," the other man grins savagely, his smile stretching an old scar on his right cheek. "Shouldn't take too long, shouldn't it, boys?"

Jack cocked his head to the side and took two swaggering steps forward. "Have I threatened you before? Kicked you off the bow of a ship? Marooned you on a desert island?"

"No," the other man continues to leer. Jack reached up and grips the other man's chin, twisting it right and left and opening his mouth to examine his teeth before jumping back as his mouth snaps shut. "I'll give you a hint, Sparrow. Her."

"Her? Mate, if you tangled with Tia Dalma, that's your problem. I know there's a funny legend going around that you 'can't refuse a goddess', but seriously, if you mess with an immortal, it's your own bloody fault of she sets you adrift at sea to be eaten by a sea monster."

"Not Tia Dalma."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Scarlett? Giselle? I encroach upon your territory?"

"No."

"Anamaria?" he grows more puzzled by the minute.

"No. Her. Think Sparrow, think back."

"Oh," Jack replies, suddenly understanding. He steps back to lean against the wreckage of his _Pearl_. "Her."

"Can you place me now?" his voice is mocking.

Jack's eyes are dull as he regards his antagonist. "You're Wren's first mate," his voice is unusually hoarse and dry.

"Excellent deduction."

"Avery something."

Avery grinned. His dark brown skin contrasted with his tattered red garments. Brown eyes the color of mud, a broad, long nose, and a narrow mouth, he was almost forgettable. But fighter's scars on his hands and well muscled limbs showed a life as a tough fighter. "I must admit I'm surprised. I expected you to be a bit more…angered towards me."

Jack closed his eyes. "Is there any particular reason I should be?"

"That weasel Gibbs didn't tell you?" Avery's voice was harsh and cutting with disbelief. Jack snapped open his eyes.

"What's Gibbs got to do with it?"

Avery stared at him a moment as though taking his measure before replying, "Little rat didn't say a word, and he was the only one who survived the beast's attack. Here I was hoping for a decent fight, only to find out that Sparrow's not mad because he doesn't know the bloody truth. Don't that beat all, lads?" There was a rumbling mutter of ascent.

Avery turned his attention back onto Jack, stepping forward and starring down at the shorter man. "You don't know how yer dear Cap'n Wren met her final doom?" Jack didn't reply. "It was the fault, you see, of Davy Jones. Davy Jones and that thrice-cursed pirate ship: the _Black Pearl_. You and Cap'n Barbossa were on land with most of the crew, and the Captain spotted a lump in the water a ways out. The rat told her not to go get it, but she was curious. Too curious. It was all her fault. So we went over there, and lo and behold, a monstrous leviathan appears and begins to eat the ship. Then da _Black Pearl_ sails up and starts attacking us. Captain Wren was still standing there, issuing orders like she hadn't just led us to our watery graves with her bitch's curiosity. Well, I couldn't let her do that, unpunished, so I drew my sword and led a little mutiny. Little Cap'n Wren never saw me comin'," he paused to draw reminiscent breath. "Then the rat shot me. Never understood his loyalty to her. Never will. But he shot me, using the pistol that she'd had given him years before. And he's not down 'ere, so I know that he got off that ship."

Jack turned away from the men and walked a few paces around his pile of wood. "I don't suppose you kind gentlemen could direct me to where she is?" he asked in a strangled voice.

"She ain't here," one of the other sailors replied. "Agaephus got her."

Jack's swagger deepened as he ran his hands over the remnants of his ship. He caressed the careworn timbers beneath his hands like the face of a long-lost lover. The _Pearl_, his _Pearl_, his love and freedom for thirteen years. Her worn boards had known every salty tear that he had wept for her. Her hold knew how much rum Jack had downed in order to drown his sorrow. She had been with him through his dark journey from honest hero to despicable outlaw. He had been born again in those days after she had died. The _Pearl_ was his love, the one he could recover. The other had drowned in the frothing oceans while he had drunk in a tavern.

Jack leaned in towards the boards, feeling them dig into his face, inhaling their scent. "You know," he whispered to his ship, "This is such a whelp-like thing to do."

He straightened and turned slowly, his right hand flashing down and pulling his sword from its sheath with a sharp snap. He grabbed Avery by the shirt and threw him against the wreckage of his ship, holding his sword to his throat.

Brown eyes stared at him in deadened, unemotional indifference. "Are you mad, Jack Sparrow?"

"I've been for a very long time," Jack whispered hoarsely. "Started losing my reason around fifteen years ago. Not a drop of common sense left, but I still have my good looks. Don't you think? That is some…small consolation."

"We can't die."

"Aye," Jack's voice dripped venom, a violence that sounded out of place coming from his own mouth. "You can't die, but…I'd wager you can still lose a few limbs!" his angry shout reverberated as he drew his sword across Avery's throat with brutality he had previously thought himself incapable of. "She," he whispered, so softly only the traitorous first mate could hear. "Was my friend." His sword flashed again, severing Avery's sword arm. "And she," the level of his voice rose steadily, "was innocent!" He flipped his sword down, slicing jaggedly through his leg, yanking steel through the bones.

"So," a new voice invaded Jack's ears. It rang with an unpleasant volume and amusement. "You're Jack Sparrow. I've been hopin' to run into you."


	3. Rescue from Beyond World's End

"Her" – Rescue from Beyond World's End

The room canted in a circle, and the edges of her vision disappeared. Wren slipped off the tabletop and fell hard on the floor. She barely felt the impact; she was trying to figure out which way was up and which was down.

"I always knew you were crazy, but I never figured you for suicidal," the familiar voice chided. Someone lifted her up. The floorboards creaked as her human chariot carries her across the small room.

"Fal...con, if I want...ed a lec...ture, I ... would ask... for it," she gasped, shocked at how out of breath she was.

"What's the matter with her?" another male voice, thick with worry, asked.

"I'm," she began only to be cut off.

"Don't ye dare lie to me, Captain," Gibbs warned her with a touch of hysteria.

"It's da backlash from da journey," Kalypso said, shaking her head and scattering black dread locks everywhere. "Da life moves onto de next plane after its death."

"What?" Gibbs asked. His expression was the best impression of bewildered Wren had ever seen. Her fingers ached for a pencil or charcoal and paper to catch it with, even though they were so numb and stiff she couldn't make them move.

"In short, Mr. Gibbs," Barbossa cut in. "A man," she tried to glare and twitched her arm, which was as close as she could get to slapping him in her weakened state. "Or woman does not like to return from the world of the dead."

Kalypso passed a hand over Wren's face, and the smell of the sea filled Wren's nose, easing her breathing for a brief moment.

"Why aren't you as limp as o'ercooked cabbage, then?" Gibbs challenged Barbossa.

"He'd been dead but a year, while she been dead a long more time than dat," Kalypso snapped, twisting the lid off of one of her many hanging jars while Barbossa laid Wren down carefully on her bunk. Wren had closed her eyes to concentrate on her breathing, but she opened them now. "Dangerous, dangerous to meddle with dis, and I tried te tell 'im, but listen...there are things that should not be attempted," Kalypso finished worriedly.

Barbossa ran a hand through Wren's hair gently, not noticing or ignoring the glare she sent him. "What be causing this?"

"She weren't ready for the overextension," Kalypso said. "I can feed her me own power to strengthen her o'er the journey, but Ieso is the healer, not I."

A sense of power filled the room, sudden and surprising. It buffeted them all like a strong wind, but it also gave off a strong sense of blue.

"If, cousin," the voice that spoke those words sounded like an uncle who came back into a room to find his children and his nephews and nieces acting like monkeys. "You had kept her from attempting crazy things just after she is able to get out of bed, there would be nothing wrong."

The three mortals in the room winced and the two who could move their arms covered their ears.

"What be that?" Gibbs asked, ears still covered firmly.

Kalypso shook her head and shook a hand towards the floorboards of her shack. "Ye ought to know she wouldn't take to dat."

"Aye, but could you have at least tried," the voice grumbled. The sense of power subsided as quickly as it had come.

"For a god of time, he doesn't spend much of it in one place," Barbossa said softly. Wren glanced up at him and shook her head slightly. Gibbs looked at her, but she shook her head at him as well.

Instead, she tugged on Barbossa's wrist with all the strength she could muster and said, "We...need to...talk about...Turner."

"Turner?" Gibbs asked. "As in Will Turner or as in Bootstrap Bill?"

She rolled her eyes. "William Turner, the sec...ond. Why would... I care about some replace…ment crew man for a ship that... should ne'er have... come back out o' the wa...tery dep...ths?"

"Bootstrap was a good man," Barbossa and Gibbs said at the same time. Gibbs shot Barbossa a surprised look. Wren shook her head.

"If you...say so."

"William Turner, with a touch o' destiny about him," Kalypso mused with a slightly wicked smile.

Barbossa laughed. "Would you have known about that touch if we hadn't told you?"

"Are ye doubtin' me abilities, Hector Barbossa?" Kalypso snapped. A different sense of power billowed through the cabin. Power that felt like the raw energy of a wave before it crashes to the ground, like the power of a storm wrapped around a spindle.

"No, no, never," Barbossa said quickly. He shuddered as the power faded.

"What about Will?" Gibbs asked, but he was ignored by all in the shack.

"Ye should know better than to question a power such as mine," Kalypso said, shaking a finger at him.

"What about Will?" Gibbs said again, his hands on his hips

"I'm sorry, I shan't do it again," Barbossa bowed, and Wren rolled her eyes.

"What about Will!?" Gibbs said, voice raised.

Wren sighed and locked eyes with the first mate. "William Tur...ner is in...most...severe dan...ger."

Gibbs stared at her. "What?" he asked, shaking his head.

"Turner is in utmost danger," Barbossa said, picking up his hat and placing it upon his head with a flourish. "And we be the rescue boat sent from past the end o' the world to save him."

Gibbs turned and stared at him, "Will Turner is in …what?" he asked again.

"Mortal danger," Wren said with surprising strength. "That's the reason we were…," she paused and coughed a bit to get her breath back. "Sent…back to here."

**AN**: This chapter is a bit short, but it was either this or nearly three times the length. I like to have one or two scenes per chapter, and I think the next scene is going to be a major one. If there are typoes, I'm sorry. I tried to catch them.


	4. Thump, Thump

"Her" – Thump, Thump

"What manner of beastie are you?" Jack Sparrow asked as he beheld the speaker, who defied most common ways of describing a, uh…being. For one thing, he was blue. And not in the mopey, depressed, "Life is dreadful because my wife ran off with me dog, and I am drunk for a month, and I don't give an ass-rats if I live or die" kind of blue, but the color of the sky, sea, and cornflowers sort. For another, he was gigantic. Granted, it didn't take too much to be taller than Jack Sparrow, but this creature was massive. Should he stand flat on the bottom of a harbor, his head would reach past the top of the _Pearl_'s mast.

"Beastie?" the figure repeated slowly. At the sound of the being's voice, most of the inhabitants of the plain moved out of sight behind their respective stick piles.

"Terribly intimidating and frightfully awe-striking beastie?" Jack added worriedly.

The being tapped an enormous foot against the ground.

Jack frowned and looked out of the corners of his eyes for anywhere else he could go.

"You aren't fond of authority, are you?" the being asked.

Jack crossed his arms across his chest. "I'm a pirate."

"Is there not a greater authority that even a pirate must answer to?" Jack stumbled back as though shot. Her words, her exact words thrown into his face when he least expected it. "No answer, Jack Sparrow?"

"Captain Jack Sparrow," he said reflexively, but without his usual strength.

"No, not a Captain any longer," the being said amiably, smiling down at Jack. He turned abruptly and headed out over the dead plains. Those in his way scrambled out of it.

"Does death wipe away honors gained in life?" Jack yelled bitterly after him, his mind in the past.

The being chuckled and turned. "No, I'm afraid it doesn't. However, one who was the rightful Captain has revoked your claim to that title," Jack stared at him in a manner reminiscent of the way he had looked when Turner had first tried to sound like a pirate.

The being cleared his throat and said meaningfully. "And I don't think you want to mess around with that rightful Captain." He turned again and walked away.

"Hey," Jack yelled, running after him, waving his arms. "Hey, stop." The being obliged. "Who says I'm not Captain?" Jack demanded, waving his arm in an arc, then pointing at himself.

The being smiled cruelly, leaning down until his face was only fifteen feet above Jack's head. "She does."

Jack backed away, hand coming up to rub his jaw. "Oh," he muttered. The being smirked and straightened up. "Oh," Jack repeated, softer, staring into the ghostly green eyes of memory. "Her." He reached down to his waist, feeling for her gun, the gun that he had found drifting in the water amongst the wreckage of the devoured ship. His fingers closed on empty air.

He looked down and sorted through all the loose bangles. Compass. Sword. No pistol. Frown deepening, he sorted through them again.

"If yer wondering where her pistol went, think Jack," the being said. Jack looked up.

"Think Jack? Well, that's just maddeningly unhelpful. Why are you things never clear?" he griped, shaking his compass as though it might hold a foot-long gun in its three square inch space. . "What, per say, do you think me brain has been doing?"

The being just chuckled again. "You've been remembering, Sparrow. But not the right Jack. The monkey. Think about the monkey."

Jack pulled his sword out of its loop on his belt and shook it. "Monkey?"

"What happened the last time you tried to shoot the monkey?"

Jack looked up. "The monkey didn't die, and I handed the gun to Gibbs."

"Then?" the being prompted, bending down to have his face closer to Jack.

"Tia Dalma let the monkey out of his cage, and he ran in and jumped on somebody's boots," Jack muttered, flipping open his compass. The needle spun wildly.

"Did Gibbs ever give the gun back to you?" the being asked, tapping a blue foot and shaking the surrounding area.

Jack looked up from the compass. "Of course he did." The being raised a blue eyebrow. "Didn't he?" The being shook his head. Jack exhaled loudly, shaking his own head.

_"Take what you can."_

_"Give _nothing_ back."_

"He took the advice of a long gone friend," the being said with another chuckled before turning and heading across the plains again.

Jack looked back down at the compass and jumped in shock. The needle wasn't moving. It held stock-still, pointing directly at the center of his chest. Jack touched the spot with a grimy hand, brushing a half-closed wound from his encounter with kraken teeth. There, in the center of his chest, he had always been able to feel the steady thump-thump.

No welcome vibration met his wet fingers this time.

Jack drew his hand away and held it in front of his face. He stared at it for a moment, watching the dark blood drip down his fingers.

He had lost his thump-thump.

Jack's eyes suddenly snapped forward and locked on the blue being now a good distance away. "Hey, you," he shouted, breaking into a run and snapping the compass closed. "Beastie!" The figure paused. "Do you know where I might happen to find a devil she-pirate?"

A/N: Well, it's been awhile. Hmm...a very long while. I'm not sure anybody actually reads this, but if you do, and you started in the beginning, bravo. Anyway, I'm not sure this chapter will stay in this position, but I felt like I needed to put it up. It's going to be the last of Jack for awhile...so bid him a fond farewell and pray I can figure out how to write him in character when he appears later.

I won't guess as to next update time. I'm thriving on spontenaity (is that how you spell that?) at the moment.

Darkened Starlight


End file.
